They're not tears
by Lady Monochromic
Summary: Drabble: Jotaro notices those bloodshot eyes in the kitchen.


**A/N:** Written for a friend's birthday

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><p><strong>They're not tears.<strong>

Salted tears pooled from green eyes, burning a perfect twenty-twenty eyesight on the way down strained cheeks. With his dominant hand preoccupied with a knife, Kakyoin rubbed his face on the backs of his sleeves, ridding the persisting tears.

But as persistence's definition states, the tears rolled back, brimming his eyelids to force his eyelashes to flutter and catch buds of salty tears. Perseverance, however, was a trait Kakyoin thought he had acquired whilst travelling, especially due to the _many_ run-ins with the stands, and it surely applied to the horrid root vegetable half-diced before him. He bit his lower lip, sniffed once before his eyes burned again as he flicked his wrist to chop twice.

If his tears were the sincere or sentimental kind, Kakyoin would not have minded letting the tears fall from his chin but instead the cause was the fumes from an onion…

"Having fun?" Kakyoin looked behind him to the voice intruding the bubbles of the pot on the stove. He was met with the stoic stance from Jotaro. Hands in pocket with an air of waiting and a smirk of… Was that a smile?

If a glare looked weak it was defined by the one Kakyoin gave with bloodshot eyes – a pink complimenting his red hair. Jotaro, standing close enough to catch Kakyoin's attention but too far too reach, cocked his head at the array of vegetables and rather lack of meat. "You should leave it to the old man."

"Joestar-san asked both of us to dice the vegetables," Kakyoin wiped his eyes again; it was becoming difficult to even see his green sleeve brushing his face, let alone try to catch a look at Jotaro's face. Despite seeing his peer, in age and stand, every minute of their travels it still felt like a visible loss since memory was not flesh.

Kakyoin could only assume the blurred movement of broad black was a small shrug, whether it was or not, he took as his own, wanting to boast (albeit to himself but to boast nevertheless) he was able to read his friend whilst being temporarily visually impaired.

"I take it you're not going to help," Kayoin waited for the silence to take as the answer, before returning to the onion.

Jotaro's presence was… fine; as long as he kept his position by the sink with his visor shadowing strong features of distraction, Kakyoin had no qualms.

That, there, was the source of the lop-sided chop when Jotaro's presence leaned curiously over his right shoulder. Although, in reality Jotaro's curiosity made no further advancement than just a peek. He tried to remind himself that he could only feel Jotaro's warm breath slipping past his collar to tickle his neck because he was attentive, rather than by a choice just because he was taller.

"You can't see," Jotaro said, his voice the same low pitch but with a slight hint of annoyance, whilst there was no reason for annoyance (or at least one Kakyoin could find), he could hear it nonetheless. Kakyoin dropped his confusion, omitting questions, not because he did not want to seem intrusive but there was a furrowed brow of concern on Jotaro's brow.

They both moved with unplanned synchronisation: Jotaro moved a step closer reaching his hand out cuppng Kakyoin's soft cheek as he turned round to face him. Both paused staring at one another, then the hand placed on cheek.

Kakyoin felt their time pause for a moment, trapped in staring at perceiving eyes. His own filled with water once more, but this time they teased him as they sat on his lower lid blurring the face so close to his. He blinked once and once more waiting for the effect of a drop machine, it only rolled following his cheek bones until they reached pale thumbs. Kakyoin could feel his tears change course trickling along Jotaro's thumbs, drying slowly on their way down.

"Just let the old man cook," Jotaro's voice vibrated in his low pitch.

Kakyoin sighed. He did not want to follow, never had but the hands that used Star Platinum's strength caressed him so uncharacteristically lightly that by each second it became a degree to surreal.

Slowly, long enough for him to hold those pale hands long enough to feel the creases and bones, Kakyoin took them to Jotaro's sides. Giving in, he switched the stove off taking lead to leave the room with the adolescent dressed in black to follow.

If the others asked they were simply on a walk.


End file.
